


Such a Quiet Boy

by michaelmyer



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Brief mentions of blood and violence, Cynthia is Laurie, Gen, I haven't written anything in YEARS, I'm kinda mixing the main and RZ canon so bear with me, Implied abusive parents, Intrusive Thoughts, Michael REALLY needs a good psychiatrist, Michael loves his baby sister, Might add more later idk what I'm doing, My First Fanfic, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelmyer/pseuds/michaelmyer
Summary: Michael feels like he’s underwater, as he sways slightly on his feet. Surely, he had been standing here for an hour now at least. The blood that had spattered on his costume was cold, and had been for some time. Michael became distantly aware of the sound of a baby crying in the next room.Cynthia is awake. Mechanically, Michael turns and stumbles out of Judith’s room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.





	Such a Quiet Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first fanfic since like 2015 and the first one I've ever actually finished so uhhhhh cut me some slack ALSO this was written at like midnight so. Y'know. All I want is for Michael and Laurie to be nice to each other, Jesus Christ. I'm emotional.

Judith Myers was, without a doubt, dead. What little clothing she wore was stained crimson, and the metallic scent filled Michael’s nose. At six years old, he had never seen so much blood before. The weight of the kitchen knife in his small palm seemed to reverberate in his bones, as though it were an extension of his person.  
Michael had held the big knives before, he found that Mama didn’t like it very much when he did that. She would shout into his face and grip his arm until he let go of the handle, her breath stinking of cigarette smoke and cheap booze. Sometimes Michael thought about holding on to it, he wondered what might happen if he turned the blade just so, how easily it would cut someone’s flesh. He thought about what it would look like, all that red on the floor. The thoughts scared him and he always, always let go. Michael wasn’t really sure what he would do if he didn’t.  
He knew now though. With great difficulty, he straightened his trembling fingers and the knife clattered to the floor beside him. Michael exhaled, slow and shaky under his mask.  
He was always a quiet boy, that’s what Mama and the teachers always said. Little Mikey Myers, so shy, sometimes you forget he’s even there. Michael wished he could cry, he wished he could scream, he wished he could feel anything at all. Why did I do that? I didn’t mean to Mama, I promise, I promise.  
Judith had been alive just a moment ago, or had it been an hour? It was hard to tell, he had been standing there for what felt like a lifetime, watching as the red puddle crawled across the floor and stained his untied shoelaces. Maybe she was just sleeping, Michael didn’t know, not really.  
“Judith?” Michael’s voice was barely a whisper, and the sound of it startled him. Sometimes he didn’t recognize his own voice, or his reflection in the mirror. Mama had told him he was being dramatic, making a mountain out of a molehill, she had said. He wasn’t. Sometimes he wanted to crawl out of his skin.  
This was one of those times. Judith didn’t answer, she stared at the ceiling and her mouth was open wide, her skin unnaturally pale. Dead then.  
Michael knew what it meant, to die. Mama wouldn’t tell him much about it, she said he was too young. But he knew enough from examining the splattered corpses of raccoons on the side of the road on his way home from school, and he knew that Judith would never talk to him again.  
She never did have many nice things to say to begin with, at least when it came to Michael. At seventeen years old, his big sister had deemed him inferior in every way. When tasked with babysitting, she would wait until Mama was really and truly gone before letting in her boyfriend. Michael dimly remembered the events of the night so far.  
Judith ushered Micheal into his room, pulling his arm so hard he thought it might pop out of the socket. She slammed the door shut behind her, never once letting go.  
“You’re gonna stay here and be good, got it? Don’t come out and bother us, and if you tell Mom I let anyone come over you’ll be damn sorry. Okay Mikey?”  
Michael stared at her, and he wondered how much it would hurt, getting your arm pulled out like that. He wondered if you could pull it right off. Michael nodded slowly.  
“I wanna hear you say it, okay? Tell me right now you’re not gonna be a pain in the ass tonight.” Judith yanked his hair for emphasis, something she had been doing ever since it had grown long enough to yank.  
“Okay,” Michael whispered. Judith nodded and let him go, turning on her heel and unceremoniously shutting the door, leaving Michael alone. It was Halloween, and instead of trick-or-treating, Judith had left him a bag of store bought candy. Michael slid his clown mask over his face and crawled onto his bed. The mask made him feel better sometimes, he had multiple, most of which were homemade, but this one was his favorite. It made him feel better, when he didn’t have to be himself. Michael reached under his mattress and pulled out the kitchen knife he had stolen from downstairs the week before, cradling it in his hands. That made him feel better too. Downstairs, from the living room, the noises started. Michael held the mask down harder with his left hand, and squeezed the handle of the knife with his right, holding on so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wished they would stop, he would do anything to make them stop.  
Now, he supposed, Judith would never make any noises, ever again. Michael feels like he’s underwater, as he sways slightly on his feet. Surely, he had been standing here for an hour now at least. The blood that had spattered on his costume was cold, and had been for some time. Michael became distantly aware of the sound of a baby crying in the next room.  
Cynthia is awake. Mechanically, Michael turns and stumbles out of Judith’s room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him. He makes his way to Cynthia’s crib, as though in a dream. He remembers to push his mask off his face before leaning over, and her crying dwindles away into quiet babbling. Michael opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.  
“Hello Baby-Boo. I hurt Judith and I think she’s dead now. I’m sorry.” Cynthia doesn’t seem very upset at the fact, and giggles at the sound of his voice, waving her tiny fists and kicking her legs. Michael nods gratefully at her reaction, she is his best friend, after all. His only friend, really. He wipes his hands off on his clown costume before reaching into the crib and scooping up a now content Cynthia.  
“Do you want me to read you a story? I think I’m going to be in big trouble when Mama comes home, and I don’t know when I’ll get to read to you again.” The baby wiggles and babbles some more, saying something that sounds vaguely like the word ‘Mikey,’ before reverting back to nonsense. Michael takes that as a yes and sits down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, bouncing her gently in his arms. He picks up one of the colorful picture books on the floor, before curling himself around his baby sister, holding her close to his chest.  
A car pulls into the driveway of the Myers house, and Michael starts to read. When Mama’s footsteps have started up the stairs, Cynthia is already almost asleep again, and she rests easy against Michael’s chest. He keeps reading, his voice barely a whisper.  
“Judith? Michael? Are you still awake?” Mama is upstairs now, and the first door past the stairs is Judith’s room, the door still slightly ajar. Michael finishes the book and quietly sets it back down. He hugs Cynthia a little tighter and leans down to kiss her forehead. He’s gonna be in big trouble, after all.  
The door to Judith’s room creaks open, and Mama starts screaming. Michael winces and cover’s Cynthia’s ears. She just fell back asleep. “Sleep tight, Baby-Boo, I love you.”  
Mama staggers into the room, just as Michael slides his mask back over his face. She’s still howling and Michael feels the fog start to settle over his mind again. He wishes he were holding the knife, and he holds onto Cynthia instead.  
“What did you do Michael what did you fucking do Michael oh god what did you do?” Mama screams and screams, spittle spraying from her mouth and dripping down her chin.  
Michael finds he doesn’t feel like talking much at all. Little Mikey Myers, he was always such a quiet boy.


End file.
